


being there and not being

by timequakes



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Apocalypse, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 15:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timequakes/pseuds/timequakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's cold. that's what people don't expect.</p><p>au scenario where abby and alex have to find a way, together, to survive the apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	being there and not being

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flickings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flickings/gifts).



> this was a late christmas gift to one of the best friends i could ever have asked for. she requested apocalypse fic, specifically involving alex and abby. i took that a few steps further. like...a hundred yard dash further. sorry? you're welcome? this is t+ i'm pretty sure but if you think it needs to be moved up i guess let me know (i'm pretty sure it doesn't though).

It’s cold. That’s what people don’t expect.

Global warming has been in the news for years, not that she payed much attention to it- she feels guilty for that now- but they had only started renaming it ‘climate change’ more recently. Still, nobody expects it. Nobody _expects_ a second ice age. Nobody _expects_ the apocalypse.

It just happens so quickly that everything is wrong. She wakes up one morning and the door to her apartment is frozen shut and her dogs are whining at her ankles and her heater is working overtime. She thinks maybe it’s just a cold snap, an early February front, until she checks her phone.

-

Alex’s family is among a few of the first to get on a plane to the equator. It’s warmer there, just slightly, for now. It’s not as if they don’t try to convince her to come with them, but then it’s really just a matter of inconvenience- it’s too cold to be comfortable, _that’s_ why there’s planes rerouting to Ecuador, to the Galapagos, the Congo, Peru. She doesn’t mind the cold, and someone ought to stay with the house, and probably it’ll warm up in time for the season to start so she shouldn’t go anywhere just yet.

They’re calling it a Mini Ice Age. Kelley’s in New York, Tobin’s in Jersey, and Alex doesn’t realize how hard it is to be alone until Abby calls her.

-

“Hi.”

“Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, you know. Cold? But other than that, yeah.”

“It’s colder up here. Kinda wish I’d gotten huskies instead of bulldogs.”

Abby tucks her toes under one of the couch cushions. Oblivious, Ben and Jerry snore on.

“You could always try and get on a plane south. My parents and sisters went to the Galapagos. It’s, like, almost sixty there sometimes.”

Alex sounds okay- not quite as okay as she says, but okay- and Abby’s relieved to hear her, even though nothing’s serious yet. It’s worldwide, they’re saying, but nothing to panic about yet. And for the most part people aren’t panicking. Some are, of course, but then people panic whenever it gets icy or cold _anywhere_. Nobody’s sold out of bread, yet. 

“Sounds nice,” she admits, “but I’m alright here.”

-

Kelley is the first one to warn her that things aren’t as okay as they seem like they are. She tells them over skype, Alex and Tobin, and she’s so absolutely serious that Alex laughs. She’ll regret it later, but at the time it’s _funny_.

“It’s going to get bad. It’s going to get really bad, okay? I’m serious. Everyone has to get as close to the equator as they can.”

Tobin laughs with Alex a little, but she sobers up first, like she can tell that Kelley knows something they don’t. She’s the one with a degree in environmental science, anyway. She’d know, if anyone would know.

“You’re from Georgia. I’m used to this.”

“Sure,” Kelley says, “for right now, yeah, it’s just- what, like twenty degrees there? Just a deep freeze. But it’s going to get colder, and it’s going to stay cold for months if we’re lucky and years if we’re not.”

Tobin doesn’t answer. Alex thinks about it for a minute, feeling an unfamiliar rush of dread making it hard for her to catch her breath. 

“That doesn’t make sense,” she says finally, leaning back into her chair, “if it goes on for years, I mean, and if it gets colder. Nothing’s gonna grow.”

Kelley, small and pixelated in the right hand corner of Alex’s screen, shrinks back even further, partly into shadow. Alex turns up the brightness on her laptop to try and catch Kelley’s expression, but she can’t, and Tobin is silent.

“Yeah,” Kelley answers, after a few moments of silence, “I mean, that’s what I mean.”

“It’s not the end of the world,” Tobin says. Alex squeezes her eyes shut but doesn’t dare mute them. She tries to convince herself that Kelley’s overreacting, but some part of her feels the truth of it like a cold pit in her stomach. Tobin’s the only one still fighting it, in the end. 

“Not the end of the world. Not like this.”

-

Three days later, Abby falls as soon as she steps out of the house. She lands right on her ass, and she feels like an idiot until she looks around to see that it’s _not_ a patch of ice, it’s everything. Like some cartoon where the Tom and Jerry leave the fridge open and the whole house is a skating rink. Even the bark of the tree in her front yard is covered in ice, and if it weren’t for the wind she’s pretty sure all the branches would be, too.

Jerry squeezes past her, desperate to pee, and topples head over heels, sliding across the iced-over driveway. Abby bursts out into laughter despite her cold ass and stiff back. Ben, even after watching his brother run out and lose control of all his limbs, decides to take the leap, and he bumps into Jerry where he’s attempted to regain some kind of composure.

The mulchy part of the yard isn’t snowed over, just iced, so Abby crawls to the dogs on her hands and knees, kicks footholes in the iced-over snow at the edge of the driveway, and gets to her feet. With one dog under each arm, squirming and panting, she eventually gets to the mulch, puts them down, and lets them go. When they’re done with their business she picks them up again and lugs them carefully back up the driveway into the house.

-

Alex panics when the ice hits. She doesn’t even notice it until she goes outside to check the mail and get the newspapers, and when she does, she feels the dread shoot down her spine, remembering what Kelley said. Before the ice it had seemed like she could have been overreacting, even though that’s not her style, but now all of a sudden Alex can see it like it’s all happening right in front of her, like the trees are all rotting and dying and the entire world is starving to death in the space of seconds.

She has to sit down on the front step and put her head between her legs for three minutes before she can get up and get to the phone again.

-

Tobin’s phone doesn’t ring. It’s disconnected or at least sounds like it is.

“I’m not cut out for the apocalypse,” Alex says out loud to herself, and feels like an idiot for doing it. She’s always been superstitious, at least a little, and to her, saying out loud- apocalypse- feels like a death sentence. Like this is the end.

Kelley picks up.

-

“How bad is it there?”

“Everything’s iced over.”

“Here, too. That’s not right.”

Alex chews at her thumbnail and curls up a little smaller into the corner of the couch, like taking up as little space as possible is comforting, even though it doesn’t do very much.

“Well, yeah,” she replies, “it’s April. It should be like sixty degrees.”

There’s some rustling on Kelley’s side of the line and Alex imagines her with papers all around her, like she’s trying to outsmart whatever’s happening to them. It almost makes her smile a little bit to think of it. 

“That’s not what I mean. That alone could just be a weird cold snap, but if the situations are the same in Brooklyn and in Diamond Bar, something’s seriously wrong. We’re losing climate zones. We’re losing the natural order of things.”

“Isn’t that a little overdramatic?”

Her voice comes out smaller than she means for it to, and Kelley’s silence tells her that her best friend knows already that she’s afraid, that she’s asking because she needs to be told that it’s not as bad as it sounds. Kelley was always good at that, at saying what Alex needed to hear, but it’s like the cold is seeping into her, too.

“I wish it were, Al. I really do.”

Neither of them says anything for a good twenty seconds. Alex listens to Kelley rustling through paper and tries not to think about anything at all. The first thing that breaks through is Tobin, though, and her disconnected phone, and suddenly Alex sits up and says, “Kelley, it’s better to be in a group.”

Kelley stops rustling, making a noise like a question mark in the back of her throat.

“It’s, I mean, if the world is ending, or whatever’s happening, in every movie or tv show where that happens, it’s the people who stay together that live, you know?”

“This isn’t a zombie apocalypse. You can’t- you can’t outrun an ice age.”

“I’m not saying that,” Alex says impatiently, “I’m saying that you should go find Tobin instead of staying there alone.”

“Is she in Jersey?”

“I think the phone lines are down there. I couldn’t reach her.”

It’s like that’s what finally pushes Kelley to feel something other than resignment. Until now Alex hadn’t realized that she was trying to make Kelley fight for something, /do/ something other than sit there and preach the end of the world, but when Kelley answers immediately, “I’ll find her,” Alex knows that’s it exactly. Because if Kelley gives up, how can she not? How can she sit here alone in Diamond Bar and wait to freeze or starve to death?

She won’t. She refuses to.

-

When Abby is done with the dogs, done making sure her family’s okay, the first thing that comes to mind is Alex sequestered alone across the country, and she calls without thinking first about whether or not it’s late enough for Alex to be awake three hours behind her.

It must be, because Alex answers on the second ring.

“Abby?”

“Hey, I just wanted to check on you, make sure you’re holding up alright out there.”

Alex doesn’t answer right away, and Abby knows without having to her face that she’s trying to get herself together enough to seem okay. It’s something that usually comes with a sort of grimacing smile, something she’s seen before enough times to recognize just from the amount of time it takes before Alex speaks again, and Abby already knows the answer.

“It’s really bad.”

“It’s icy here, too. But I guess here we’re used to that and down there you’re not.”

“Kelley says we’re losing climate zones.”

“That seems a little extreme. When’s your family coming back?”

Another pause, this time longer, and when Abby realizes that Alex is trying not to cry, her stomach drops.

“I don’t know. They haven’t called yet.”

“Did you call them?”

“I don’t,” Alex’s breath catches and Abby feels an enormous wave of frustration that catches her off guard, “have a number for them because they haven’t called me and they’re abroad so none of their cells work.”

Now it’s Abby’s turn to sit and not speak for a moment, because if she speaks she’s just going to say something hateful about Alex’s family leaving her behind with no way to contact them. She’s a _kid_ still, and now she’s completely alone and being told that the end of the world is coming, with no way to reach the people she loves, and no guarantee that things are going to get better anytime soon. The decision isn’t really all that difficult to make. In fact, honestly, there _is_ no decision. All Abby has to do is imagine Alex scared and alone and iced in and the decision makes itself. The words are out of her mouth before she has time to check them.

“I’m coming out there.”

“No,” Alex hiccups, clearly stifling tears, “please don’t do that, don’t leave your family to come out here just because my parents ditched me.”

“It’s not a big deal. It’ll be, what? Maybe a week or two tops before I come back up here. They’ll enjoy the vacation.”

This time Alex is laughing a little bit, and it’s like Abby can see it, Alex clutching the phone with one hand and wiping her eyes with the other and smiling in spite of herself. Her frustration ebbs, but only a little. Alex doesn’t need to know that Abby wants to fly to the equator and give Mr. and Mrs. Morgan a piece of her mind. She doesn’t need to worry about anything but being safe.

“You really don’t have to.”

“I’m not doing it because I have to. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

-

A day into ‘as soon as I can’, Abby stops answering text messages, and Alex can no longer reach Kelley. The TV and the radio are still working, but the news is only on for an hour or so every day. Just long enough to get the general idea, that it’s not getting any better, and that people are starting to riot and raid. For as long as the phone lines- and her internet- are still up, she gathers some tips, and, with the last burst of self-preservation she has left in her, she sets about blacking out all her windows. 

She rips up shoeboxes and any other cardboard she can find and duct tapes the pieces to every window, so that nobody can see in. The issue, of course, is that she can’t see out, but as long as nobody can see in nobody will know if she’s there, or if the house is abandoned, which will deter people, at least a little bit, from ransacking the house. She organizes the food in the house into perishable and non-perishable, with help from google, and makes sure to focus on eating the perishables first. She finds all the batteries, flashlights, candles and matches in the house and gathers them together near the bed. She puts her valuables in the safe, although she doesn’t imagine ever needing them again, unless it’s to bargain for food or something.

They don’t have a gun in the house. 

Google tells her that this is bad, but she’s relieved, in a way, because if it came down to it she’s not sure she could bring herself to use it. Still, she does what the tips say, and keeps one kitchen knife near the bed, and a few in other places around the house, should she need them. It all feels hopeless, though. Because her supply of food is exhaustible, and the power won’t stay on forever, and they’re all going to die, anyway.

-

The trains are still running. With a smile and a bag of canned food Abby’s able to bribe the conductor into letting her bring Ben and Jerry on with her, as long as they’re quiet; to her surprise the train is mostly empty, anyway. The first line takes her all the way to Chicago, with enough stops that the dogs whine a little, but don’t have any accidents, and she feels mildly proud of herself- and them- even though there’s hardly anyone around to be impressed by it. They take up a whole coach, and for the first stint of the trip, Abby’s so enchanted by the shorelines they’re passing that she doesn’t really notice how bad things have gotten.

In Chicago she has to transfer lines. In Chicago she notices. She has to.

There are gunshots as soon as she steps off of the train, and the dogs go wild, wild enough that she barely finds something to hide behind before she can gather them together and quiet them down. She has no idea what’s happening. It’s only once the gunshots have stopped and she realizes she’s crushing her bag under her and the dogs’ combined weight that the word ‘raid’ comes to mind.

Maybe Alex was right. At the moment, with two bulldogs slobbering down the front of her jacket and no guarantee that someone isn’t lurking around waiting to off her, Abby can admit that maybe things are getting pretty bad. Either things are getting bad or people _think_ things are getting bad- either way she’s in danger. She has to find her transfer. It’s not like she can turn back around now and go home- Alex needs her.

Whoever was shooting isn’t there when she stands up, or if they are they don’t seem interested in shooting her. Still, she doesn’t linger.

It’s not until she’s on the right train, twenty minutes from the station and finally situated, that she realizes her phone isn’t with her.

-

Alex can’t think of anything to do with herself but wait for the inevitable. Their house isn’t in a neighborhood, just on a street, but there’s a neighborhood behind it, and the shooting starts early in the morning. She tumbles out of bed in a panic, grabbing for the knife she’s hidden between the mattress and bed frame, but it only takes a few seconds before she realizes the shots aren’t close. She’s never really heard gunshots before, except on TV. Each one makes her jump, even huddled underneath the bed like that’s not the first place someone would look for her.

When the screaming starts, she starts to shake.

Alex doesn’t know any of them. She knows that there are children because she’s seen the little kids doing things like playing in the pool or having lemonade stands or trick or treating. She wonders who’s shooting, and whether they’re shooting for impact or to kill. The screaming kind of answers her question, she thinks, but she doesn’t move, she just curls up under her bed and shakes and trembles until the shooting stops, and only then, with the knife clutched in one hand, does she realize she’s been crying silently the whole time.

When it’s over she stretches her legs to keep them from cramping, then gets up and walks around her house quietly, to be sure nothing was damaged. It’s strange, because she feels as if she ought to be hiding, but with the windows blacked out she doesn’t have to. The knife never leaves her hand. She still doesn’t feel very safe. Eventually she settles in the bathtub, because it seems like the safest place to be, and tries to read something to make herself relax.

The knock on the door scares her so badly that she hits her head on the tile behind her.

-

Abby knocks, waits, and then starts to panic a little bit. The windows being blacked out like this gives her the creeps, and the entire area is so quiet that she’s afraid something really, really awful has happened. Something like her being too late to get to Alex.

And Alex doesn’t answer the door.

Abby knocks again, more frantically, and the dogs start to growl a little, picking up on her tension. When nothing changes she leans against the door, trying to hear whether or not someone’s walking around inside, but she can’t tell over Ben and Jerry, so the best she can do is make some noise herself.

“Alex?”

Silence, still. She thinks about whether or not she could feasibly break down the door.

“Al? You in there?”

The door swings open and it’s unclear which of them is more terrified. Alex is holding a knife, which Abby only notices _after_ she notices the fear all over her face, which dissolves almost immediately. She drops the knife. Abby lets out a breath.

-

“I dropped my phone in Chicago. I wanted to find a payphone or something, but I didn’t want to leave the train at stops any longer than I absolutely had to.”

There’s something Abby’s not saying, and for a second Alex wants to drop it, because she’s exhausted and beyond relieved and finally warm and safe, with one of the two bulldogs snoring in her lap, and Abby sharing her couch. The knife is resting on the coffee table, and looking at it is what makes her press, scratching under the dog’s collar and avoiding Abby’s eyes.

“Why not?”

Abby’s voice drops a terrifying amount in volume.

“Listen-”

“Why not?”

Alex repeats the question, starting to panic again a little bit, enough that she can look up to see if Abby’s going to lie to her. It’s like the eye contact makes her tell the truth; Alex files that away for later, in case she needs it. Abby’s never lied to her before so she’s not sure why she’s convinced that it’s going to be that way. Maybe because it’s so obvious that Abby’s here with the intent to protect her.

“Because the train stations are getting ransacked. Not all of them, but Chicago was bad, and I didn’t particularly want to show up like swiss cheese.”

“Don’t joke,” Alex says quietly, and Abby breaks off eye contact first, rubbing the back of her neck. There’s no way that Abby could argue with her now, like she could possibly pretend that things aren’t dire, or on their way, and Alex is willing her to accept it so that she’s not the only one sitting on that couch, just waiting.

“We’re gonna be okay. Give it a week.”

-

The only thing that happens after a week is that it gets colder and they start to run out of food.

“It has to stop sometime,” Abby says, peeking out the door. Behind her, Alex uses a foot to keep the dogs back from the threshold. They’ve taken to her, and even though she’s a cat person she’s taken to them, too. Both the dogs sleep with Abby in the guest room, but Abby can tell that having them around makes Alex feel better. The snow’s sticking and falling too fast to be anything but alarming. Alex doesn’t need to know that part.

“We need food,” Alex says, and Abby bites back her frustration.

“Food, yeah, I know. We need to find a way to get a gun, too. Not that we’ll need it, but just in case. A kitchen knife isn’t quite as intimidating.”

It’s a joke, but Alex doesn’t laugh. For a fleeting moment Abby wonders if she’s forgotten how, and then she realizes how absolutely ridiculous that is and completely dismisses it.

“Alright, I’m gonna go. Where’s the nearest Costco?”

“You’re not going alone.”

Abby closes the door and rests her head against it. She’s trying to think up a way to convince Alex to stay in the house, but she knows already that it’s not going to happen- as stubborn as she is, Alex matches her step for step. It used to be endearing or helpful on the field, but now it’s just- frustrating.

Frustrating to think of the field. To think of normal life, where Alex was her teammate and her friend but not her responsibility. Where getting a gun from Costco wasn’t on her to-do list. 

“Can’t you just write down some directions or something?”

“I could tell you where it is but you shouldn’t go alone and you know it.”

“We probably won’t even need the gun, Alex.”

The way that Abby knows the argument is over is when Alex just stops answering her. There’s no further discussion, just layering coats and Alex following Abby out to the Land Rover, sullen and quiet, the knife in her pocket.

-

They end up needing the gun.

Alex knows as soon as they pull out of the driveway that things aren’t going to go well for them. It’s too quiet for half the drive, and then they start seeing people in windows, like maybe they shouldn’t be driving at all. Alex reaches into her pocket and holds onto the knife she knows she won’t be brave enough to use. Abby ignores everything but the directons, but Alex can tell that it’s mostly for her benefit. There’s a tic to Abby’s jaw that Alex has only seen a few times before- mostly notably in the Olympics, after being socked in the face. That seems a lifetime away, now. It was a different Abby, and a different Alex, and a different world entirely. But the tic is still there. It’s almost comforting, except that Alex knows to be afraid of what it means.

The Costco has clearly been ransacked, but it looks empty. That’s the first sign that something’s wrong. It occurs to Alex, for a half a second, that the first place she would have gone- if she had the guts to do it- would have been Costco, or Walmart, or something like that. Somewhere with a variety of goods, things that could be used to bargain with, or for her own good. If she had a way to protect herself or a group of people with her, that’s where she would go. Months back when the zombie apocalypse was all the rage in movies and tv shows, that was the consensus- warehouse-type stores were the place to go.

But Costco is empty.

Abby even pulls into a parking spot.

“Do you think we still need a Costco card to get in?”

The joking around has gotten frustrating now, like Abby is so deep into denial that she’s ignoring how serious the situation is. It makes Alex anxious, too, like she’s losing her mind, or like Abby is. She doesn’t answer, but she lets Abby lead the way in.

The really fucked up thing is what people stole first.

The sodas are gone. The TVs are gone. The watches are gone. The chips are gone. The power still works, but somehow the perishable stuff- like bacon, or eggs, or frozen meals- are gone, and the canned foods are still just sitting around. The bread’s gone, sure, but things like crackers and peanut butter, canned soups, trail mix- are still there. 

“These people did not watch enough disaster movies,” Abby says quietly, but Alex just grabs a few plastic bags and heads to the soups. She lets Abby go find the gun. She wouldn’t know what to look for anyway, and she’s afraid of it, afraid of what it means that they’re getting it. She’d like to focus on the food, because it feels like something she can control. She double-bags each bag of soups because they’re heavy, and she takes some crackers and peanut butter, too, before she thinks to find the dog food.

Splitting up was the stupid part.

It all happens really quickly. Alex has her hands full with the handles to bags she’s got nearly overflowing, and is trying to figure out what kind of dog food she should get, and how much, and then there’s the sound of scuffling sneakers and a gunshot.

Just one.

Alex drops the bags.

-

“Abby!”

The guy has her in a chokehold, or she’d tell Alex to get out. The best she can do is twist and dig her elbow into his ribs, hard enough that he loosens his grip on her and she’s able to get out and go for the shotgun again.

He comes for her, but she hits him with the butt of the gun just as Alex appears at the end of the aisle. Then it’s understood- get the food and get out.

She should have realized there couldn’t possibly just be one of them.

He’s running behind them, but they’re both in good enough shape, still, from training, that they can outrun him. Certainly Alex can, even laden down with shopping bags. The thing is, they’re running _from_ him, towards the entrance, where three other people have appeared, startled out of hiding. One of them has a gun. Alex skids to a stop, barely keeping herself upright, and Abby cocks the gun.

She doesn’t have to think about it. It’s this or them. She aims for the guy’s shoulder but doesn’t wait to see where it hits. With one hand holding the shotgun, ammo loading her pockets, and her free hand on the small of Alex’s back, she pushes them out and towards the car, jarring Alex back into a flat sprint.

They shoot out the back window before Abby can get out of the parking lot, with Alex pale and clutching the dashboard, and loose cans of soup rolling around the backseat. Abby doesn’t go below forty for the first three miles. When she finally slows back down, convinced that they’re alone again, Alex surprises her by speaking. It’s like neither of them had remembered that was something they could do.

“I forgot the dog food.”

They have to pull over to laugh. 

It’s the kind of laughter that only happens after narrowly avoiding something awful, like an accident, or being shot in the head, or starving to death, or all three. It’s laughter borne out of terror. They’re together, at least, in laughing so incredibly hard that their sides ache and their eyes water, over something that’s actually a matter of life and death and not that funny at all. 

“We’re gonna be okay,” Abby says, through gasps, and for a second she could swear that Alex believes her.

-

"So, we almost died."

"I think that's-"

"If you say 'extreme' one more time, I'm going to lock you out in the snow."

Abby grins. Alex lets it warm her a little, like a space heater but from the inside out. She can't make herself smile back, though, as long as she can remember trembling under her bed listening to people screaming for help she couldn't give. She doesn't want to bring it up because she's afraid to hear those screams out of her own mouth. 

"Alright. We made a dangerous mistake. And you were right, and I'm glad that I took you with me. But we're alright, and now we have a lot more food _and_ a gun. So we'll be fine."

"Until we run out of food," Alex murmurs, tucking her legs underneath her on the couch so that Jerry can sit in front of it. Abby touches her, and it startles her so badly that she bites her own tongue when her chin is tilted up, forcing eye contact. 

"We are not going to die here, Alex."

The screams start bubbling up in her throat and she has to bite them back with gritted teeth. 

"Do you believe me? We aren't going to run out of food before this is over. And if we do we'll find more. We aren't going to let this beat us."

"We don't lose," Alex manages, and Abby grins. 

"That's right. We don't lose."

-

All the determinedly good cheer Abby has managed to pump into the house disappears when they start trying to ration. 

Every time she tries to get Alex a little more food than her she gets caught, and after the first few times Alex doesn't even say anything, just refuses to keep eating until the portions are even. It's two days before Abby stops trying to shortchange herself. 

It's three until the nightmares start. 

During the day they mostly play board games and flip through channels on the TV to see if anyone is broadcasting, but the only channel left running at all is Starz, which just plays Iron Man on repeat until both of them can quote every word and the desert from the first half looks like heaven. On the third day, Abby changes the routine. 

"Had you heard from anyone?"

She means before the phone lines and Internet went down. Alex pales a little, clutching the Scrabble tile in her hand so tightly that her knuckles turn white. 

"Tobin and Kelley, in the beginning. And then tobin must have lost her phone or something, because she stopped answering and Kelley went to find her, and then Kelley stopped answering, so-"

She cuts herself off before she says it, and Abby puts her hand on the Scrabble board to make her look up. Nowadays it's all about making Alex make eye contact. Something must have happened before she was there to make Alex flighty and quiet, and it's _wrong_.

"So?"

"So that's it. That's the last I heard. I don't know if Kelley found her or what."

Alex places her tile and makes the word 'collated' complete. Abby doesn't say, 'I'm sure they're fine,' because she's not, and now she's busy thinking about everyone else. Christie and her kids. Heather and Adam. Shannon in LA. Hope in Seattle. She hadn't heard from any of them, but she hadn't thought to reach out to them, either. And now it's too late. 

Alex is the one to say it. 

"I'm sure they're fine," and there's something ironic and beautiful about the tremor in her voice, like she's determined to be 'sure' even through the haze of fear and guilt. 

That night is the first nightmare. 

-

Abby wakes up screaming. 

When she first wakes up she thinks it's coming from somewhere else and wants to find the gun. By the time she realizes it's her screaming, Alex is already in her doorway with both the dogs at her feet, hair sticking up on one side where she's slept on it. Abby stops screaming and feels empty, the sweat she's just noticed cooling on her chest and forehead. 

Alex doesn't even ask. 

She clambers onto the bed as Abby sits up, and gathers her into an awkward sort of embrace just before the shaking starts. 

"Hey, it’s just me. It’s just me, just Alex, okay? You’re okay."

"Sorry," Abby says through the chattering of her teeth and the beginning of her tears.

"Don’t be."

-

Alex stays. 

It feels safer with them together in one bed. 

-

Abby spends the next day figuring out how long she’s been there. Alex turns on her phone and gives up some precious battery time to see when it was that Abby last called her, and Abby adds two days to that, and then, together, they figure it’s been about a month. When every day’s pretty much the same it’s difficult to be sure, but a month feels like the right amount of time.

It’s getting difficult to feed the dogs. Really what’s getting difficult is justifying giving them food that they could otherwise be eating or saving for themselves, and they’re already not eating much, slimming down. Alex doesn’t seem to have a bit of a problem with it, but Abby does, and anyway Alex has some kind of a masochistic streak, so Abby doesn’t quite trust her judgement on this one. She doesn’t want her dogs to starve, but she doesn’t want Alex to starve, either, and if she has to choose she knows who’s going to go first.

The issue partially resolves itself.

They have to be let out every once in a while to do their business, and every time Alex goes out with them, bundled up in countless layers, crunching through the ice-crust and snow that’s up to the middle of her calves. Abby stands on the porch with the shotgun and keeps an eye out, but since going to Costco they haven’t seen another human being. She’d like to keep it that way until the ice thaws, because it _will_ thaw, and then she’ll be able to do whatever she wants to get rid of that gun. Bury it, maybe. Sell it. Something other than hold it.

Thinking about it must have jinxed them. She’s never been _incredibly_ superstitious, but when she hears the first shot she can’t help but think it couldn’t be a coincidence. Alex yelps, clambering back onto the porch, and Abby shoulders in front of her, leaning to look around the corners of the house if she can, resisting Alex pulling on the back of her coat to get her back inside. Ben has skittered back into the house, whining each time there’s another shot, but it’s not until Alex gets her back inside that Abby notices Jerry is gone.

“He’s probably outside still,” Abby says, heading for the door, and Alex stops her with a hand on her wrist.

“I’m sorry.”

“He’ll come back.”

“Is Ben going to be okay without him?”

The dog in question is lying on his back on the couch, panting, looking no worse for the wear. Actually, the only one of them that’s visibly shaken is Alex, and Abby turns to face her completely, trying to understand it.

“He’s a dog. He’ll be fine. Are _you_ going to be okay without him?”

Alex blinks, and now it’s Abby’s turn to try and stop her from moving away. Again with the game of eye contact, but now Abby’s learned to savor the fleeting seconds she gets. 

“He’s your dog. I just feel bad, because he’s...if you had stayed home maybe they’d both still be here. And I could have grabbed him on my way in.”

Abby touches Alex’s shoulder and tries not to notice how bony it is, in comparison to the way it used to be. 

“He’ll come back. And even if he doesn’t it’s okay, alright? You and I are safe. That’s what’s important. I can get another dog.”

Alex hugs her, suddenly and jerkily, and Abby winds her arms around Alex’s waist as soon as she can react. Sometimes she thinks that moments like this are physically keeping them from falling apart. It starts to feel a little more like that every day, like any second the power could go out, and the sun could die, and holding Alex like this would still almost be enough.

-

Alex wakes up before she hears the storm. For a few seconds she honestly doesn’t know what it was that woke her; she thinks it might have been the cold before she hears the howling and sits up. Next to her Abby stirs, and Ben snuffles and whines. 

When the first tree falls, the crack wakes Abby up so suddenly that Ben yelps and crawls into Alex’s lap.

“Al?”

“I’m okay,” Alex says, reaching for Abby’s arm, “it’s okay, it’s the trees, the wind is really bad.”

Abby is out of the bed in an instant, reaching for the matches, for the blanket, for Alex.

“Get away from the windows, get in the bathroom or something. I’m going out to see how much damage-”

“-no,” Alex takes the now-lit candle out of Abby’s hand, “you can’t go out there, are you crazy?”

With the power undoubtedly out, they’re going to get very cold, very quickly. Ben sits on the bed with each of them standing on one side, looking between them like a child looking between his warring parents. Alex spares him a glance before she clears her throat and goes to repeat herself, but Abby interrupts, turning to find her coat. 

“I have to go out and see if there are any trees in a dangerous place; if one’s close enough to the house I have to figure out what angle it might fall at and where the safest place in the house is.”

“Then I’m going with you.”

Alex stops Abby with one hand, and Abby turns, dislodges that hand, still absolutely sure of herself even half asleep and maybe panicking. What she knows for sure is that she’s not putting Alex in danger, or letting Alex put _herself_ in danger- so it doesn’t take a lot of effort to squeeze her hand for a second and say, “you’re staying right here,” with enough authority that she knows Alex won’t be able to fight it.

Because the truth of the matter is that Alex is terrified, and tired, and slowly starving to death. They both are. And at the end of the day, Alex needs someone to tell her that she doesn’t have to be the hero, that she’s allowed to be the one taken care of, that she gets to be the kid still and someone else gets to be her mentor still. That it’s not all on her shoulders.

And Abby- who can no longer give her food, or safety, or actual restful sleep- can at least give her that.

“Please be careful,” Alex says, gathering Ben into her arms like he weighs twenty pounds instead of fifty. Abby doesn’t answer her because there’s nothing much to say, and she fits herself into two pairs of gloves and three pairs of socks even though she knows she’ll be chilled right through them.

The second tree falls as she’s going out the door. She has to push it open with all her weight behind it to even get it open far enough for her to stick her boot in it, and she barely gets outside before the door slams shut. She’s immediately numb, clinging to the rail of the porch as the wind threatens to knock her right over. Waiting until her eyes adjust to the darkness just adds to her anxiety, because by the time she can see at all she can see the third tree falling, and she has to struggle to remember how many are in the yard. She comes up with five, maybe six that are tall enough to do damage, which leaves two or three still standing- she’s just not sure how to find them. She focuses on wrapping an arm around the porch column and leaning out as far as she can into the wind, catches sight of two trees on the other side of the yard that don’t seem like an issue, but she has to keep blinking away wind-whipped tears in order to make sure she’s seeing what she thinks she’s seeing. 

She only barely realizes that the tree is falling right towards her in time to avoid it.

It hits the front of the house, cracking into the porch, and she jumps aside, cursing loudly, slipping on the ice and tumbling to the ground amidst a shower of branches and twigs.

-

When the door opens again and Abby stumbles inside, Alex runs to her, Ben at her heels. Abby sinks into her arms and Alex holds her up, unable to feel anything but relief with Abby safe again. Even with safety being relative- even with Abby being safe to starve to death beside her. In the end she figures she’s just being selfish. With a hand slipping through Abby’s hair, Alex realizes that there’s not much left to hope for. 

She doesn’t want to die alone.

“You need a haircut,” she says, using her fingers threaded through Abby’s hair to tilt back her head. There’s a gash above her eye, and it’s bleeding a little but not too badly, but Alex doesn’t want to say out loud how lucky they were. Abby knows. 

In the dark quiet after the storm ends, as the sun starts to force its way weakly through the cracks in the duct-taped window, Alex cuts Abby’s hair. She does the back first, and shorter, leaving the front longer like it was when the world ended and everything went to hell. Abby looks too normal then, too much like someone who won’t survive- like the woman Alex used to know- so she takes the bangs away, letting the sharpness of Abby’s cheeks come into contrast. There’s still something full about her, something flickering and healthy in her eyes and the curve where her neck meets her shoulders, but it’s going, just like everything else. Alex doesn’t want to know what she looks like anymore.

She knows she isn’t herself.

-

They fall back asleep curled close together, and this time when Abby wakes up it’s not from a nightmare, it’s because she’s _warm_.

It’s not from Alex. Alex is curled up with her, resting her head against Abby’s bicep, their legs intertwined under layers and layers of sweatpants and blankets, but the heat isn’t from Alex. It’s like she’s wearing _too many layers_. It’s like it’s not cold enough anymore.

She moves just a little bit and Alex wakes, blinking a little; Abby can see it when she realizes the same thing and knows then and there that she doesn’t have a fever. It’s warm.

“It’s warm,” Alex says hoarsely, and Abby dares to let herself hope that it might be.

At the sound of her voice Ben wakes at their feet, leaping off of the bed and demanding loudly to be let out. Alex is on her feet in seconds, shoving them into her too-big boots and clonking all the way to the door. The windows are all so blacked out still that Abby can’t see out of them, but she can feel that something is different even before Alex opens the door and it’s raining.

Raining isn’t the right word, really. It’s spitting, but it’s not snow, and it’s not sleet; it’s at least forty degrees and the ice and snow have started to melt. Ben trots down the stairs and into the yard, which has been decimated by trees but is still there, at least, and takes a leak like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Alex is only frozen for a second more before she makes and indescribably happy sound and follows him, arms outstretched.

It’s surreal. Abby doesn’t feel anything about it until Alex turns back to her with the kind of smile on her face that Abby thought she’d forgotten, and then the relief and hope come flooding back so violently that she whoops, jumping the stairs and barely landing on her feet, picking Alex up around the waist and spinning her in circles until they’re both so dizzy they have to stop and hold each other up.

When she can stand on her own again and open her eyes, the first thing that comes back into focus is Alex’s smile.

-

It’s wrong that she can only feel the rain on her face and her hands. That’s all Alex can think, other than how strange it is to be happy again, and how much she hopes she isn’t dreaming or at least that she won’t wake up if she is. She wants to feel the rain on every inch of her so that she knows it’s real, so that she knows it’s over. When she pulls the first sweatshirt over her head Abby just stares at her, but when she struggles with the second Abby reaches to help her.

Abby helps her undress down to the final layer, the long-sleeved thermal and sweatpants, and then Alex starts pulling at Abby’s top sweatshirt, and Abby lets herself be undressed. When they’re both standing there together in the rain, grinning stupidly surrounded by small piles of dirty clothes, Alex starts laughing. 

Ben is barking at her heels, and she turns to chase him over the melting snow, her bootlaces flopping, and Abby can’t control her own laughter- not because it’s funny to watch, even though it is- because the relief has left her giddy and light-headed. It’s like laughing gas, Alex chasing her dog and the dog chasing Alex, until Ben starts to roll in the snow and Alex turns back to Abby in the rain with her bun coming undone and the purest expression of joy on her face that Abby’s there within seconds, sliding her hand around the back of Alex’s neck and fitting their lips together.

For a moment or two Alex doesn’t react, just stands there with Abby’s lips on hers, and then she does, and it’s exactly right. It shouldn’t be. Months ago this wouldn’t have been right at all, but they fit now, even with years between them. Now that ‘alive’ and ‘dead’ mean so much more than ‘gay’ or ‘straight’ it doesn’t matter. Alex kisses her back full force and it’s like falling on ice all over again the way the breath is yanked from Abby’s lungs. Alex’s hands fist into the collar of Abby’s sweatshirt, like she’s clinging on for dear life, and really she is. 

When Abby pulls back, they start to realize what they’ve done. Alex’s grip loosens, until her hands are just resting flat against Abby’s collarbones, and Abby lets her hand come back from behind Alex’s neck to tuck a strand of soaked hair behind her ear. Alex looks happy for the first time in a long time, and it breaks Abby’s heart to think about the time they’ve spent so trapped in a state of mind that doesn’t allow for this kind of hope or happiness. 

She would have said that the world would end before she’d be kissing Alex Morgan in the rain, but then- here they are. It’s not particularly romantic, but there aren’t any words for what ‘it’ _is_ , so she doesn’t try.

“I hope it lasts,” Alex says.

“It will.”

Later she’ll realize Alex was talking about the rain.

-

The rain lasts into the night, and Alex is brave enough to peel back the cardboard from one of the living room windows in one corner so that she can watch the ice and snow melt away, bit by bit. They’re not low on food yet, and for now that’s good enough. Halfway through probably their hundredth game of Monopoly, Alex goes into the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of wine. She does this half for the look on Abby’s face, and half because she feels like they should be celebrating.

It’s one of the best wines that they have in the house, rich and fruity the way she’s always liked it, and easy to get tipsy off of, for her at least. 

“I bet the power will be back within a week,” Abby says, and Alex lifts her glass.

“I’ll drink to that.”

“You’ve _been_ drinking to that already,” Abby laughs, and Alex kicks her under the coffee table. It’s nice that the kiss from before hasn’t really changed anything negatively. It _has_ changed something, though. Alex can’t pinpoint it, but something is different between them. Easier. Like the weight of Abby feeling responsible for her is gone. She wonders if it’ll continue to get easier if they kiss again, and she knows that a good part of that thought is the wine, but she runs with it, anyway. 

She rounds the coffee table to sit on the couch behind Abby, who turns to look at her like she’s not sure what’s happening. From there all Alex has to do is lean down and touch Abby's cheek- the kiss kind of happens on it's own. Kissing Abby isn't like kissing a man, but Alex likes it anyway, which is a surprise to her at least as much as it's a surprise to Abby. She knows she's straight. She knows that beyond a shadow of a doubt. She also knows that doesn't really matter here or now, with Abby pushing up against the couch to get closer to her. 

It's an awkward angle to kiss at for an extended period of time, so eventually Abby ends up on her knees leaning against Alex's legs, with one hand on Alex's knee and the other braced against the couch. 

"Do I get to know what brought this on?"

Alex rests her head back against the couch cushion, leaving her hands on Abby's face, and Abby watches her breathe. 

"You kissed me first."

"You were running around all relieved in the rain. Someone had to do it."

Alex laughs, and the motion, combined with their position, feels a little intimate. Like they could easily be in this position with less clothing in the next twenty minutes, which is kind of scary.

“Alex.”

She lifts her head once she hears her name, and Abby finally gets to hold eye contact for more than half a second.

“What do you want?”

“What do _you_ want?”

Abby thinks for a moment, then leans up a little further to tug Alex’s shirt up above her bellybutton and kiss her stomach. When she looks up, letting the shirt down, Alex is still just watching her, expressionless. After a few seconds that turns into understanding, and then mild surprise.

“Oh. I- I didn’t…”

“I know,” Abby says, moving both her hands to the couch, “that’s why I asked.”

-

She has two choices, as far as she can tell. 

It should have occurred to her that Abby would want this to go somewhere, sexually. Because Abby is gay, and Alex _knows_ , and _has_ known, and it was stupid to kiss her. It was teasing. And she didn’t intend to tease, but it’s what she did, and she’s not sure whether or not she’s good for it. She needs time to process it- time that she doesn’t have.

And she knows that Abby will wait at her feet for as long as it takes.

She reaches down, threads her fingers into Abby’s hair, and pulls her up into a kiss. Abby doesn’t respond right away, just sits there, like she’s not sure whether or not it’s a joke. Alex doesn’t let up the pressure at all, until Abby kisses her back, hesitant like she wasn’t before, and maybe it’s the wine but Alex knows then and there that she’s good for it. She’s good for what she’s teased. She wants Abby as close as she can get, and that might not be the reason she’s had sex with people before, but nothing is the way it was anymore, anyway. Least of all her or Abby. 

When the kiss deepens, at the first brush of Alex’s tongue to hers, Abby pulls back, breathing wine against Alex’s lips.

“Are you sure? You’ve had a drink, I’m not- I have to be really sure I get-”

“What? Verbal consent? Here it is. I’m sure.”

Abby hesitates; Alex presses her fingertips against the back of her neck. 

“We both had wine.”

“Then I’ll wait until we’re sober.”

She doesn’t realize what she’s said until Abby pulls back a little further and looks at her properly. She’s just made it a Thing that it wasn’t before- before it could have been a tipsy hookup, a one-time thing brought on by relief and the wine, and now she’s made it a promise. She keeps surprising herself every second. The idea of a promise to Abby doesn’t scare her.

Abby’s the only one she could see herself making a promise like this to anymore, anyway, assuming they’re not the last living people on the planet. Abby’s seen her suffering and scared and they’ve spent months now protecting and understanding each other, and even before the world ended they were good together. Age difference doesn’t matter anymore. Public opinion doesn’t matter anymore.

Just Abby matters.

“Stay with me,” and Abby stays.

-

The power comes on two days later.

It happens that night, with all the lights on. Alex finds the scar on the crown of Abby’s head where it was stapled together during a game and kisses it. Abby finds the faint scar from Alex’s ACL surgery, now six years old, first with her thumb, later with the insistent press of her lips. They spend a long time learning each other physically the way they’ve spent months doing in other ways, a long time shedding clothes, touching, tasting. 

Talking.

Another breathless ‘are you sure?’ from Abby, hovering above Alex, knee wedged between her legs, fingers dancing across her hip. And this time instead of a ‘yes’, a ‘please’, one that’s whispered against the corner of Abby’s mouth, before-

before.

But everything is always so much better after.

-

After, two days: the news comes back on and a bedraggled newscaster- albeit in a tie and collared shirt- tells them that the remaining experts say the Ice Age is on its way out. 

After, three days: they go outside. It’s sixty degrees and Alex finds a soccer ball to pump some air into. Thinking about the game makes them both question, for a moment, whether or not sleeping together is a good idea. Then they kiss and it’s alright again.

After, five days: The phone company guy shows up. The first person either of them have seen since some redneck tried to kill them at Costco. He doesn’t actually know what he’s doing, he’s a patched-up replacement, but he gets the lines up.

After, seven days: Kelley calls.

-

“Alex?”

“Oh my God. Kel? Are you okay?”

Kelley laughs, and Alex puts her on speaker so that Abby, who’s on the floor rubbing Ben’s stomach and looking left out, can hear.

“All in one piece. Tobin, too. And both our families.”

Alex’s grin is uncontrollable. Abby’s is a mirror of hers, better now that Alex has felt it pressed into her neck, but she won’t say that.

“I’ve got Abby. Is Tobin- can I talk to her?”

“What, don’t believe me? She was a little malnourished, dehydrated. The works. Wouldn’t eat until everyone else had eaten so as soon as everything was up and running again we admitted her to a hospital to get some fluids.”

It’s so typically something Tobin would do that Alex gets surprised by an onslaught of tears she can’t really explain. Abby, sensing or seeing that, takes over right where Alex lets off, effortlessly.

“As soon as the trains are back up I’m getting my ass back to Rochester. There’s a stop at Grand Central and if I don’t see you there I’m gonna find you in Jersey and kick your skinny ass, you hear?”

“Loud and clear,” Kelley says, with a smile in her voice.

-

After, four weeks: life goes back to normal.

-

It happens quickly. It’s been happening quickly since the ice started, really, but Abby still isn’t quite used to it. Understandably, the World Cup has been postponed for a bit, and the world’s infrastructures are coming back into working order are varying speeds. America does pretty well for itself pretty quickly, rivaled only, really, by western Europe- Germany, the United Kingdom, all places accustomed to cold- but USSF contacts them a month in to tell them that the World Cup is important.

It’s important for people to have something to root for while the world crawls back to where it was before. Something to distract them from things like curfews and military-enforced rationing and endless, endless destruction. In some cases, something to distract them from the loved ones they lost. In terms of possibly apocalyptic scenarios, one thing the Ice Age spared them was, at least in the developed world, too staggering a death toll. Most of the dead are the elderly, or the very young, or the very sick. The dead include her grandparents.

They tell her God was merciful. 

-

“We have to stop.”

It stings a little, but it’s the truth. Three months after the rain started they’re already back at their first camp, well-fed again and almost (but not quite) ready to work at 100%. They’re closer to 80%, but it’s something. It’s almost like being back to normal. Alex nods, toying with the hem of her t-shirt. The lobby of a hotel is an awkward place to do this, but it’s quiet, and their teammates are holed up in their rooms already.

“What we had was- there’s a word for it, I’m blanking. Like the kind of thing that worked where and when we were but that’s-”

“-situational,” Alex finishes, and Abby nods, brows drawn together. She’s so serious and so concerned about this, the way she never really was when the ice almost starved them out. It’s kind of funny, actually, in an ironic way. This isn’t a breakup because what they had was never romantic, but Abby looks like she’s concerned for their relationship. Alex decides that hugging her will fix it, and when she pulls away she has to admit that Abby looks partly relieved. Her hair has grown out again, charmingly uneven.

“You saved my life.”

“Yeah, well. You saved my career.”

Alex laughs, kicking halfheartedly at Abby’s ankle.

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It is to me.”

-

After, six years: With a World Cup and two Olympic gold medals to her name, Abby’s one of the best college soccer coaches in the southeast. She’s also a married mom of two. Alex is married, too, nearing thirty and wearing an armband each game that surprised nobody but herself. 

Sometimes when it gets cold one of them calls, and the other one answers, and they leave the phone lines connected without speaking until the urge to hide stops.

-

It’s difficult to remember what _being_ was like before the Ice Age. Abby can remember Alex during, or at least can remember the absence of Alex, can remember the fear that stole Alex away from her until the rain brought her back, like a flower waiting months under the snow to open up again. The metaphor feels forced until she thinks of the way Alex looked at her then, soaked and smiling. 

Alex doesn’t remember all of that, but she can remember Abby being there. She can remember Abby being there, and she can remember not being. They’re mutually grateful even though Alex maintains forever that what Abby did for her is bigger than what she did for Abby. It’s really only because Abby couldn’t, in that moment, admit that Alex had saved her life, too- it would have meant letting Alex know how close she was to giving up, and even after, when she had the chance to say it, she was too afraid to let Alex down. She prefers being the heroine to being anything else.

Let Alex think she was saved.


End file.
